In previous threads, I've posted how much I hate my soul-destroying job because it's bleeding the life out of me bit by precious bit etc. etc. Lately, I've begun to realize that's a tad harsh. The pay is shitty and the hours are domineering (4-11 on a school day? Yowza!) to the point that crosstraining is out of the question, so yeah, it's not like I'm without reason to be bitter. But on the whole, I like my job. I like the people and I like what I do. I'm an usher. I tear your tickets and tell you which way to go. I also sweep theatres. It's good work. Lots of slacking and the various crazies make for great stories.

One of the great draws of my job is that there's about as little formality as you can get in a place run by a faceless corporation (Regal Entertainment, for those curious). Last Monday we had a pizza party for pretty much no reason, held broomfights with the local fencer, and critqued the writing of various mens' magazines. We don't do a lot of work, you see.

So it's the end of a Saturday night shift and the big rush is over. The theatres are clean and the closing duties are finished. Pretty much nothing left to do but talk to my coworkers so it doesn't look like I'm leaving too early. Now, understand this, if nothing else: my theatre, much like a sitcom, has various supporting characters who just drop by whenever they please to hang out. Tonight one of them randomly challanged me to a boxing match.

I knew I would lose the instant I said yes. I knew it from looking at him, I knew it from the faces of those who knew him. I was cruisin' for a bruisin'. But who cared? I've spent the past three months bitching about how I can't find a training partner and how I don't have enough experience with a fully resisting opponent and all that crap, so who am I to turn down a sterling opportunity?

We got a crowd. A few managers, two projectionists, a bunch of ushers, mostly ushers. Some of the senior ushers were reminscing over the time he fought Jon, our biggest manager. A real clash of the titans, they assured me. The girls were weakly offering encouragement like I was goddamned Rudy, only no one scripted me to be the winner. I still think they were making fun of me.

Upstairs, the crowd had grown to over a dozen people, and my opponent--whose name I still do not know--took off his jacket. Underneath he wore a wifebeater and sported a large tatoo over his chest. He was a thin man, gaunt, but defined. I was not going to try to look for weak points in his anatomy. We established the ground rules: no face, kidney, or groin shots, kicks to the shin and thigh only. He asked if I was ready. I said yeah. And that was it. Pretty unceremonious really.

As soon as he got into his stance--a weird, lanky one, wide but agile--my mind began racing. I kept thinking about everything that held me back last time, my emphasis on defense and a lack of focus chief amongst them. I kept running my eyes over his body. "Something's gotta be open", I thought. "He can't protect his whole body at once, but how the hell do I get past those arms?" Suddenly there's the one-two, thus establishing the pattern for the night. He would throw a one-two, I'd awkwardly slap the first one out of the way and drop my forearm into the second, pretty much negating it.

If, at this point you think this story is going to have a happy ending with a freeze-frame on me going "I did it Mr. Miyagi! I did it!", then you are more than welcome to go on thinking that.

The thai kicks were a bitch. Most I just backed away from, but almost every time I instinctively reached down as if I could somehow deflect a kick being thrown at my shins. One particularly nasty one, I recall, grazed my shin, but his instep flopped around and tapped my calf. I have no idea why, but that single flop almost necessitated a breather.

And what was going on in the Boyd offensive? Not a whole hell of a lot. I suck at offense, and my reflexes are too bad for defense. I kept throwing side kicks at his lead leg to keep him back, but most of the time he just turned his leg a little and deflected it.I threw punches that forced him to block low, I tried to get him to lower his guard by punching him in his forearms and biceps, but ultimately his footwork kept his body perpetually out of reach. Each punch felt like I was reaching into an alligator's mouth.

We took a breather when half the audience left to go smoke, but once we returned, he pretty much went all-out. This was telegraphed when he asked how old I was.
"Seventeen."
(creepy-ass smile)"Great, legal age."
I knew that up until then he had been pulling his punches; he hit hard, but his blows were few and calculated. I blocked everything (except one uppercut that ended with his thumb knuckle on the wrong side of my ribs. That was fun.), I'm proud to say. He tried rushing me into a wall and I got out of it. But ultimately, the sheer intimidation was enough. He backed off for a minute, and I knew that he was going to blast in again. That was about a dozen punches he just threw. Now I was feeling dizzy, my vision was getting dark, and I was afraid of what would happen during the next blast. He saw this and asked if I was okay. I said yeah. He asked if I was done. I said yeah. And that was it. Pretty unceremonious, except for the little hug at the end.

So yeah, I got my ass kicked, and quit because the beatings became too hot and heavy for me. I wish I could give this story an actual ending, but if it's any consolation, we wrestled a little bit later and I totally outlasted him (I may have actually won that, but I don't know any submission holds. I mean, I've read about how to do arm bars and ****, but I'm not going to embarass myself by trying one out for the first time in front of a dozen people. At best, it'll look like I'm humping his arm). A little while later, he called Jon and began talking about the fight. He said that I held my own pretty well. Ehh, good enough. I'd prefer "kicked my ass back into the Old West", but we all gotta start somewhere, don't we?

Captain's Log: Just a little update for all my TRUE and HONEST friends out there:

1) I am STRAIGHT! I am STRAIGHT! Get it through your thick skulls, numbskulls!

2) My name is not Ian Brandon Something.

3) Kacey is coming with me now. I have stolen her from the other Christian Weston Chandler.

REMINDER: I am still the one and only true creator of sonichu and rosechu electric hedgehog pokemon

Thanks, but it was probably nothing most of you guys don't do all the time. By the way, I'm curious: What do you do about getting past someone's defenses? I know the whole body's a target, but I don't see an opening and keep trying to force one by just throwing arbitrary punches. I think I looked plain goofy punching his forearms.

Edited by - boyd on February 02 2003 01:57:54

Captain's Log: Just a little update for all my TRUE and HONEST friends out there:

1) I am STRAIGHT! I am STRAIGHT! Get it through your thick skulls, numbskulls!

2) My name is not Ian Brandon Something.

3) Kacey is coming with me now. I have stolen her from the other Christian Weston Chandler.

REMINDER: I am still the one and only true creator of sonichu and rosechu electric hedgehog pokemon

Interesting. Well I'm not sure my advice is applicable since I take a sword art. But, I'll put in my $0.02 in the chance of getting feedback and learning something.

From my school of fighting, defense is not nearly as important as offense. This might be different if defense was at all easier than offense. I'm not saying that you leave yourself open ever. What I'm saying is defend when you're not attacking yet attack with defense in mind. Unless you're doing the big red gloves kind of boxing, you can't afford to be on the defense for a whole round. Again, boxing is alot different from my art, where one good cut is a kill. If you don't attack, you can't win and if you mess up on defense once, you could be dead.

To answer your question directly, I'll quote you:

"Each punch felt like I was reaching into an alligator's mouth."

Take that and flip it on it's head. Every time he struck out, I'm sure there was some counter you could have played off of. My art does this all the time; the only defenses lead right into offensive moves. What does everyone else think?

btw, what possition are you in the job? If he's your manager, then maybe it's a good thing you didn't beat him. ;p I'm sure everyone respected you for putting yourself in the ring, for having guts, like JKDChick said.

Hey Boyd, you may feel like you lost, but 99% of the people reading this wouldn't do what you did. You got respect from your opponent and your audience, 99% of whom would also not do what you did. I have children so I have to add that it may have been a bit stupid going into a full contact sparring match with a stranger.